Juliana shook her head, trying to think what to do. At least Tarleton hadn’t, as she’d initially feared, wrested the key from Cain.
“I have no idea why you are here,” she said, praying Cain would return soon.
“Really, my dear? I suppose that’s still possible. But I have confidence your clever little brain will soon work it out now you know of the connection between my uncle and Eleanor Combe. Don’t bother to deny it. I saw you write in your catalogue this afternoon.”
Juliana hadn’t realized he’d noticed her reaction to the volume of manuscripts at the auction. He had, she thought ironically, an inflated opinion of her powers of deduction. Without Cain she’d never have seen the significance of the connection.
“Since you’re here, I’d like to see any volumes from the Combe collection you have tucked away.” Sir Henry’s courteous tone, for all the world as though he were a customer making a perfectly regular request for a book, was contradicted by his hand’s painful grip on her upper arm. “There must be some I haven’t found during my previous…visits.”
“Why?” she asked, trying not to look at the table where the Combe folio lay open in plain view.
“Eleanor Combe gave your husband the evidence of Julian Tarleton’s marriage and I haven’t found it so far.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Believe me, I’ve looked.”
“She gave Joseph the proof?”
“So she informed me, the crazy old witch.”
“You killed her, didn’t you?”
“Let’s just say I may have hastened her death. She had a weak heart, and who’s to say she wouldn’t have died that night anyway?”
Juliana shuddered to think what Tarleton might have done to frighten an elderly lady. And he must, of course, have killed Joseph too.
With a knife.
She eyed his clothing, trying to detect a hidden weapon. She was terrified at the thought of facing a blade. With instinctive revulsion she tried to pull away from him and almost dropped the lamp.
“Careful there. You had better put that down. We wouldn’t want to set fire to the place.” She could see the thought enter his head as she placed the lamp on the table, carefully aiming the light away from the book. “Or perhaps we would. A fire would take care of several loose threads.”
One of them being herself, she thought with a shudder. Being burned to death was even more appalling than stabbing. Quarto, alerted to his mistress’s distress, actually roused himself from his posture of abject adoration and barked at Tarleton, who put his own unlit lamp down and reached for his pocket.
“Don’t touch him,” Juliana begged, imagining a blade plunged into the poor bulldog. She had no faith in Quarto’s ability to defend himself, or her, against a knife.
“I thought your dog was just a puss,” Tarleton said. “I think he’d better be shut away. Put him in the back room and close the door, otherwise at least one of you will be hurt.”
She did as he asked, taking her time about it.
“I don’t understand,” she said, once Quarto was safe in her office. She needed to keep Tarleton talking until Cain returned.
“Come, come, Mrs. Merton. I have more respect for your intelligence than that. You aren’t going to pretend you haven’t guessed who your father was. My cousin Julian Tarleton and his little Romeo and Juliet romance!”
“You hid the quarto in my shop.”
“When you told me that was your mother’s favorite book, I saw the significance at once.”
“You stole it and slit open the binding.”
“Noticed that did you? I thought I’d mended it quite neatly. Hiding her marriage record in the book was the sort of romantic thing a runaway bride would do. There was nothing there. In this case I was wrong.”
Except he hadn’t been. He just hadn’t found the record.
“Once I knew the book held no evidence, I had to get rid of it. I decided a little legal trouble would keep you busy, perhaps even send you on a trip to the Antipodes. A midnight visit to the shop, a few words in the ear of that sot Newman, and the trap was laid. Unfortunately you found the book yourself.” He shrugged. “Oh well, things don’t always work out. I thought it a neat solution to the problem of how to get rid of you.”
Visions of blades and flames assaulted her. “How did you even know my parents were married?” she asked desperately.
“I didn’t. For most of my life I expected to inherit the baronetcy and the estate after my uncle’s death. As soon as I heard the old scoundrel was dying I sold everything and shook the dust of Jamaica from my boots. Then Eleanor Combe fouled things up. Julian had told his aunt about his marriage but after his death she kept quiet.”
“Why?” Juliana almost shouted. She was getting sick of hearing this.
“Julian and Cassandra were both dead and she wasn’t on speaking terms with Sir Thomas. She never knew of your existence until she received a letter from your husband with the information that his wife had been George Fitterbourne’s ward.”
Of course. Joseph loved to boast about her connections.
“Miss Combe was an eccentric old recluse but she wasn’t stupid. She put two and two together and wrote to the executors.”
“That must have been upsetting for you,” Juliana said dryly.
“Quite so. Luckily she didn’t furnish all the details. As soon as I heard, I traveled to Salisbury and got the truth out of her. Including the fact that she’d summoned your husband from London and given him her record of the details of the marriage. Unfortunately she’d hidden it somewhere. I couldn’t find it among the books he took from her, nor among those sent to you later. I’ve been searching for it ever since. It has, believe me, been an anxious business, expecting any day for you to find the proof yourself and come forward to claim the Tarleton estate.”
“You killed Joseph!”
Sir Henry actually had the nerve to bow. And it really came home to her just how dangerous a man he was.
“Once your husband knew of your legitimate birth it could only be a matter of time before the trustees found evidence of the marriage. I’d hoped to avoid it, but you will have to go the same way.” He gave her a nasty look. “I regret it less since your advice resulted in my losing the Burgundy manuscript. Is it possible you lied to me when you said Lord Chase wasn’t buying? Were you acting in concert with him?”
As if on cue, Juliana heard a sound at the door. Having awaited it eagerly, she had the advantage over Tarleton. In the couple of seconds before he realized someone was entering the shop, she dodged around the table and grabbed hold of one of the chairs, with some mad idea of using it to hit Sir Henry over the head.
“Cain!” she shouted, tugging at the seat. The thing was wedged between the table and the bookcase on the wall behind it. “Tarleton’s here!”
Quick as a wink Sir Henry pulled out a wicked-looking knife and swung around to face the new arrival.
Juliana had seen illustrations of men wielding weapons. She recalled an engraving of Macbeth attempting to grasp the ghostly dagger floating above his head. Nothing had prepared her for the prosaic reality. Tarleton held the weapon in his fist so the blade stood upright, the business edge toward him. Juliana could imagine him plunging the point into her gut and lifting, slitting her open from belly to breast.
Thus, she thought, her stomach churning, must Joseph have died. Was she sending Cain to his death the same way?
Even before Juliana cried out her warning, Cain knew there was trouble when he found the door unlocked. Damn it! He shouldn’t have left her alone.
Swiftly he assessed the situation. Tarleton would be out to kill them both: no other outcome would do once he learned of Cain’s presence. He’d have to kill Cain first. Then finishing off Juliana would be easy.
Cain considered his options and looked for a weapon. Dropping the food he’d purchased from the bake house, he took hold of the wine bottle by its neck and advanced into the shop to find out what he faced. He was confident of his ability to fight off anything
save a loaded pistol at close range. If Tarleton stayed true to form he’d use a knife, and Cain had fought off rougher customers than Sir Henry armed with blades. He only hoped Juliana would have the sense to stay out of the way.
The light was very dim, but in the near darkness he caught the flash of steel in his adversary’s hand. With a measured application of force he cracked the bottle on the hard corner of a bookcase.
Even at a moment when all his concentration was focused on the struggle ahead, a corner of his mind registered amusement as Juliana shrieked, “My books!” Trust her to be worried about red wine stains. The dear girl simply couldn’t help herself.
He’d done a nice job with the bottle. Not as good as a blade, but it had a sharp edge he could use to parry Tarleton’s attack. And he had a few tricks learned in the alleys of London’s less salubrious neighborhoods. But underestimating his adversary would be a mistake. Jamaica, he guessed, had a few insalubrious neighborhoods of its own.
He took up a fighting position, feet apart, knees slightly bent, his weight balanced and prepared for an attack. At the other end of the aisle he saw Tarleton settle himself into a similar stance. They waited, assessing the terrain and each other.
Tarleton had the advantage of the better weapon, but the light favored Cain. The lamp on the table, ineffective as it was, cast some illumination on Tarleton, while Cain stood in almost total shadow. Tarleton wouldn’t be able to see his movements.
Then Juliana entered the picture, stepping into view with a chair brandished at the not-very-elevated height of her shoulder. She attempted to crash it down onto Tarleton’s head, at the very moment Tarleton moved forward out of the light, avoiding the blow.
“Get back and stay back,” Cain yelled. “Leave this to me.” He couldn’t spare her any more attention. Tarleton’s concentration had been distracted for a bare second before he moved forward purposefully, his powerful knife pointed squarely at Cain’s heart.
Hoping to seize the advantage of the first blow, Cain sprang forward, his left arm raised to ward off the attack, his broken bottle aimed for Tarleton’s face. Tarleton parried it easily and the fight was joined in earnest, each seeking a chink in the other’s guard.
The broken bottle wouldn’t be enough to deal a winning blow. Cain had to disarm his opponent. He brought his legs into play, attempting to bring Tarleton down with a series of kicks to the knees. Finally he landed one, but though it upset Tarleton the kick also disturbed his own balance, and one of the knife thrusts penetrated his guard, striking a glancing blow to the inside of his right arm.
First blood to Tarleton, literally, as carmine stained Cain’s sleeve.
But Tarleton was panting and his movements became labored. The kick had hurt. Scarcely feeling his own injury in the excitement of combat, Cain pressed his advantage with another kick. Tarleton continued his thrust and parry but Cain could sense him weakening. He kicked him in the thigh. Then again, higher and harder. Tarleton’s knife arm became unsteady and the slashes of the blade less confident. Cain sharpened his focus, seeking the moment he could break through and knock the knife out of his opponent’s hand.
And then he became aware of activity beyond Tarleton. Juliana was up to something. Heaven preserve him from women who thought they ought to get involved in fights.
Tarleton could sense it too. Cain read it in his eyes. The man’s brain was working, looking for a way of using Juliana to his benefit. He was backing up. If he was allowed to get too close to her, Cain would lose the upper hand. He’d be restrained by the need to protect her from being harmed in the cut and thrust.
Pretending to be bothered by his injury, Cain let down his guard. The feint worked. Tarleton launched himself forward, his knife in gut-slitting position. Cain prepared to use his enemy’s own weight to bring him down. What the outcome would have been, he would never know.
Books rained down on Tarleton’s head. Cain stepped briskly back as, with a mighty crash, the bookcase at the head of the aisle hit the floor, taking Tarleton down with it.
“Goddamn it, woman!” Cain roared. “I told you to leave it to me.”
Juliana stood at the other end of the fallen shelving, chest heaving.
“He had a knife!” she yelled back. “You needed help.”
“I was fine. I had a bottle.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Don’t remind me. You spilled wine all over the history section. The knife looked really dangerous.”
“Don’t ever, ever, ever interfere in a fight again.” He was still shouting, dizzy with relief that it was over and Juliana was unhurt, and more furious than he’d ever been in his life. She looked small and frail. His blood ran cold at the thought that he might not have returned in time to protect her from Tarleton. That he might not have been there at all.
She placed her hands on her hips and jutted her chin forward. “Don’t look at me like I wanted to be in a fight. I hope I never have to do it again. I hope I never have to see a fight again, or even hear of one. I never want to see a knife again as long I live. Even to cut up my food.” Her voice broke and her face crumpled.
In an instant he leaped over the fallen bookcase, without giving a thought to Tarleton, and seized her in her arms.
“Never,” he said, still shouting. “Never,” he repeated, his voice moderating as she sobbed into his chest. “Never,” finally he whispered, “am I going to leave you alone again. I am so sorry. I should have been there to protect you.”
“But you were,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes big and green and shining with tears. “You came when I needed you. He was going to kill me.”
Her voice wobbled and Cain knew her composure hung by a thread. He held her closer and brought his lips against hers, kissing her with increasing fervor between murmured words of comfort and apology.
“It’s all right, love. You’re safe, love. I’m sorry, love.”
As her sobs subsided he thought only of the woman in his arms and how he’d never let her go. But after a minute or two the very silence disturbed him. Although Tarleton hadn’t made a sound since he fell, the villain was still there and Cain supposed he’d better see to him.
“We’re not alone,” he said, reluctantly releasing her. Tarleton’s head, face down, protruded from the end of the toppled bookcase. A boot stuck out of the side at an odd angle. Cain felt for the pulse at the baronet’s temple and detected nothing.
“Can you help me lift this?” he asked Juliana.
They’d only pivoted the bookcase a couple of feet back toward upright when he saw the pool of blood. Cain tried to recall Tarleton’s position as Juliana had crashed down the shelving.
“I think he’s dead. He fell on his own knife.”
Chapter 29
After many hours of dealing with constables, magistrates, coroners, and lawyers, the seemingly endless list of men who were concerned with the death of Sir Henry Tarleton, Cain returned to St. Martin’s Lane where he’d left Juliana that morning. Once she made her statement to the representatives of the Bow Street magistrate’s court, she and Quarto had retired to get some sleep. Now, late in the afternoon, she came down in response to his knock.
Fatigued as he was, Cain’s spirits rose at the sight of her. She was back in her blacks, minus the cap, God be praised, and her hair knot was its usual teetering disaster. As soon as the door closed he embraced her in the dark passage, happy just to hold her. While not exactly resisting his touch, her response seemed perfunctory and she drew back almost at once.
“You must be tired.” She sounded flustered. “Come up and have some tea.”
The sight of the cheerless little room fueled Cain’s determination to get Juliana out of there at once, if not sooner. A snore in a corner alerted him to the presence of Quarto, who clearly hadn’t had enough sleep. Cain knew just how he felt.
“These fellows certainly ask a lot of questions,” he said, throwing himself into a chair. “But Tarleton’s executors are ready to examine your claim to be Julian’s
daughter.”
“Thank you for helping. I wouldn’t have known how to start.”
He waved aside her gratitude. “You don’t have to thank me. Naturally there isn’t anything I won’t do for you. I left old Robinson to discuss the details. With the exact date there’s a reasonable chance they’ll discover the church where the marriage took place. But finding a record among Miss Combe’s books would help.”
“I haven’t been able to bring myself to go down to the shop today and look, but I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I think Miss Combe lost the proof, whatever it was. I think she lied to Sir Henry Tarleton when she said she gave it to Joseph. Why else would Joseph have gone to Fernley?”
Cain leaned back in his chair and considered the theory. “It makes sense,” he said. “He would have no reason to ask Frederick Fitterbourne about Cassandra’s marriage if Miss Combe had given him the information.”
“Exactly. And that’s why he bought all these dreadful books from her. Because she thought the document was lost among them somewhere. She was old and sick and couldn’t remember where she’d put it.”
“Did you sell any of them?”
“That is what I am trying to recall.” Juliana sighed and looked discouraged. “Perhaps I did. Suppose I sold the book that contains the record of my parents’ marriage?”
“I think people will accept the truth, even without it. Why else would Henry Tarleton have tried to kill you? At the very least they’ll know you were Sir Thomas’s granddaughter. The coded inscription in the Romeo and Juliet proves that. Legally legitimate or not, that’s more acceptable than having an unknown father.”
“But they won’t accept me as the heiress.”
“I don’t give a damn about the money. We don’t need the Tarleton fortune.”
“You may not need it,” she said. “I would find it quite useful.”
The Wild Marquis Page 27
